The Re-Orientation of JB Barnes
by Tophats-Disused
Summary: Avengers don't imply Arrive. Avengers enter with style, they drop in (literally), they explode though walls with flares and firearms, they appear, sometimes they intrude. And whatever they do it is always completely and entirely them. The arrival of James Barnes therefore could never have been anything less than what it is. Messy, unpredictable and just a little bit complicated.
1. Prologue

**_Arrive. _**

[1] To reach a destination in one's journey.

[2] To come to be present in time.

Synonyms inc. _Enter, Appear, Approach_

To say that any of the avengers arrive, at anything, ever, would be incorrect.

Avengers do not simply /Arrive/. - Tony Stark probably said that once. Tony Stark probably said that a million times trying to cohere any of the others into whatever he's planned this time. ("Jesus Tony the thing's in your basement for heaven's sake. We do not need fireworks going off from your elevator!")

It's true though, and he knows it. Tony Stark is ostentatious. Flashy. Conspicuous. Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. Subtle just isn't his style. It isn't his nature. With Tony you get the full deal. The whole shebang. Before, when he was just a weapons developer lacking an inch or two of purpose, it was dancing girls and flashing lights, with screaming crowds, media and as much alcohol as you need. Now it's a there's less girls and more red paint, rocket boots and saving the world. But it can never be said that Iron man 'arrives'. He kind of erupts onto a situation with a blare of AC/DC and a 'hell yeah I'm Ironman, that one the one that stopped his mate's wayward brother levelling New York with a bunch of Aliens. Yeah. That one.' attitude. Everyone knows then Tony Stark's in town.

Tony's not the only one who's entrance isn't exactly what you'd call quite though. Thor's pretty spectacular too. He'll plummet in with a low grumble of thunder shuddering around mountains, the bitten off growl of a large animal, and hot white flashes of lightning. Someone, probably Clint this time, calls him out on it occasionally but he swears it isn't deliberate. Just something that comes with the whole Norse God-of-all-things-Stormy package. Anyway, Thor comes and goes between Asgard a lot less these days, and Tony can't say he's too sorry about the reduction of electric charge related problems that that caused. (That one time Jarvis got fucked and ended up as an uber-realistic hologram was, well, an experience to say the least…).

It's fair to say the rest a bit, well a lot, more low key. Prime examples being Natasha and Clint who both possess the the ability to be in your house for, like, a month before you even realise they're there. And even then that's probably because they want you to know who's about to kill you. (The amount of heart palpitations Falcon swear's they've caused him since he started hanging around with the avengers isn't even worth counting). Even Bruce can remain comfortably unnoticed in the background for ridiculous lengths of time - that is when he's not turning green and smashing things….

And Steve Rodgers? Well, Steve's Steve. Captain America. Mr Muscles. He's always just there. When you need him, getting the job done with minimal killing - well… mostly- and a bucket full of patriotic duty. You'd imagine that, maybe, what with him being such an icon and his super serum body it'd be obvious when Captain America turned up, but in fact Steve's arrival is the most understated of them all. The closed to being just an arrival. He's not got the sculpted death stealth of Clint or Natasha, or the egotistical eruptions of Tony Stark, he's just a kid from Brooklyn who doesn't like bullies.

And James Barnes? Well, he's also a little complicated...

_So that was the prologue of what will be a multi-chaptered story focusing on events after CATWS and Bucky's introduction into life as The Avengers know it. And, of course, there will be flashbacks...  
Thanks for reading! I've already got the next chapter written (it's pretty long I think) so I'll get that up once I've got someway into the next. This is kind of my project for the next while so I'll try and keep updates as regular as possible._ _*You can come and find me on __tumblr__ btw :)*_


	2. Some Legends Are Told

It's a thursday morning when Black Widow gets the call. Thor and Hawkeye and Sam are about to deal a new round of Irish Snap (Although teaching it to Thor may be a decision Clint is beginning to regret). The man who may be J.B Barnes will arrive at a safe house just east of Lawrence, Indiana in 15:30 hours approx.

Clint and Sam are up and throwing stuff in the trunk of a very expensive car - the kind Steve finds ridiculous and Bucky would think was fantastic - before Natasha's even got an air map up to track the flight. They've been on standby for days now - so much so it wasn't even worth Natasha and Sam going back out.

They drive four and a half hours straight when Natasha announces that, due to her flexible outlook on speed limits, they're already 54 minutes ahead of schedule - which makes their ETA almost unacceptably early. The natural conclusion therefore is to stop for food. - Cue practiced squabbling over take out choices followed by potentially the most intimidating order the Chinese guy just off the I-70 near Somerset has ever experienced.

At 5 hours 13 minutes Hawkeye sits up and begins throwing things out of the bag at his feet. Falcon and Black Widow continue eating and driving respectively.

"Fuck". 5 hours 15 minutes.

"Huh?" Falcon questions around the last of the spring rolls.

"Batteries."

"What about them?"

"I didn't bring any."

"Don't you use those fancy ass things Tony made? They don't need batteries…" _Everyone _had been made aware of Tony's latest donation of kindness towards the human race - a tiny, permanent, non battery operated earpiece that still works entirely as a hearing aid.

"He's not finished fixing them after last week so I'm back to the old S.H.I.E.L.D set."

Natasha pulls over at the next gas station and they pile out again.

When they get back in Sam switches into the driver's seat, Natasha notes the drop in ETA (although they're now over an hour ahead of the plane) and Clint goes to sleep in the back.

Falcon presses the radio on. They listen to a guy talking about an allergic reaction to cauliflower, a girl who's dog ate her hamster and the greatest hits of March 1974. Natasha holds her hand out for Sam's iPod.

10 Minutes after this Clint's been woken up by a heated discussion over Broadway's greatest hits.

"Hell I'm not saying Phantom's not a little bit rape-y but Christine isn't exactly turning him down!"

"He made a doll of her. A fucking _doll _Sam"

"When have you seen Phantom of the Opera Tash?" Clint adds over her shoulder.

"London, four years ago. Child Trafficker. Hey sleepy."

"Dead?" He asks more for the conversation than the need for clarification. "I'm not sleeping when you're making that noise"

"Very. Take the aids out then Dedushka"

"What and miss all the action? No thanks. Hey, I think you'll find we're on our way to meet the '_Dedushka'_"

"If you two are done flirting, Tony's calling. I'm not sure I want to know what that means by the way." Sam holds out his phone, one eye on the road.

"Damn. Wait I'll put you on speaker"

"What's happening?" Sam asks

"Hey flyboy, listen Chicago want to search Stevie's plane when they get down, they _say_ it's routine but anyway change of plan you're going there to meet them, just the tin man flips or something. Fury's got some people on standby moved close enough but he wants you there. I'd come but apparently I'm 'more valuable where I can't aggravate anything'." Sam can almost see the quotation marks around the last words. It was consensus that, while Tony may be a perfectly reasonable guy after you've stuck around long enough to realise it, he wasn't the most emotionally sensitive person to have around your average emotionally unstable, unpredictable, potentially, potentially-not, ex assassin. "Oh, and there's traffic up your way in 10"

"ETA Tash?" Clint asks from the back.

"You've got 07:40 hours if you keep going that speed. Plane arrives in 06:20. Get a move on slowcoaches" Tony answers for her and the phone clicks off.

"Shiit" Breaths Clint

"Yeah."

"Swap Sam?" Natasha offers. Sam nods and they begin to climb over each other so Natasha is back in the driving seat, her foot's already pushing down further at the accelerator, swinging them off onto a backroad. Natasha Romanoff doesn't do traffic.

Steve's not had an anxiety attack since August 1939. Not since Bucky'd walked in the dance hall, fifteen minutes late, dame on arm, cheep scotch in the other hand and announced he'd enlisted. It'd taken all of three minutes for the reality of what Bucky'd done to completely wash over Steve. He remembers the lightheaded feeling of skin and bone knees giving out from under him. After that he remembers Bucky crouching in front of him, hands hovering just above Steve's arms. The dame's gone, or maybe she's just stepped back a bit. It doesn't really matter, Steve's already getting up and insisting he's fine; "leave it Buck, I'm good."

Bucky'd enlisted, he was going to war. It wasn't that Steve wasn't proud - hell Steve's dead set on enlisting himself, what with Europe looking to go all pear shaped any time soon, an' all. It wasn't even because Bucky wasn't going to be around here anymore, Steve'd be joining him in no time. It was just that, well, it was _Bucky_.

Even during the war, before the serum, heck, even the night Bucky shipped out Steve had been focused on doing the right thing, winning the war, saving other people that there hadn't been time to panic. He sometimes wonders whether it was wrong of him not to fall apart that night Bucky left. He sometimes wonders why he didn't.

The attack on new york maybe brought him close - this wasn't something the serum couldn't fix - but Steve thinks he was still numb enough from waking up in the future that it didn't touch him the way it should of.

Steve's not had an anxiety attack since 1939 but he's fairly sure he's having one now.

Steve's also fairly sure the man next to him already heard the situation when the S.H.I.E.L.D standard body guard/co-pilot/flight attendant/what ever you want to call him/"my name's Aron sir" told him. Still he repeats it.

"Bucky? Listen, the guys at Chicago, at the airport, they want to check the plane ok? It's just a routine thing, because we're a private aircraft and we're flying into the night… Your not gonna… you're ok with that right, Buck? They'll have to look at our documents of course. I mean… Fury's sending… They'll have documents by then, to show who you are of course. Not that they'll be looking for anything. It's just routine, they do it all the time I think. You're good with that aren't you Bucky?" Steve's aware that he's rambling an' that Bucky's heard it all before from a more coherent voice but he just needs to make sure. Needs Bucky to understand. Needs to be able to breath. It's just routine. They do it all the time. Nothing's 'up'. It's just routine.

"Sure."

"They'll probably do it as we get off the plane. Just check the documents, that we are who we say we are. Someone'll search the plane but once we're off as well. It's like, do you remember when, it was — it was '38, '39 something like that; you tried to get us into that ba— " And breath Rogers. In and out. Then in again. "It going to be fine Buck. I swear it."

"Sure."

The man who's passport apparently states him as J. B. Barnes continues sitting forward on the aisle seat, watching the flight attendant out of the corner of his eye with a bored caution. Steve is still breathing carefully next to him. He's trying not to remember how much concern used to hurt.

Natasha spots the first of the ex-S.H.I.E.L.D vehicles 20 minutes out from the airport. It's pulled up just slightly inside a cluster of trees near the edge of the road and she slows just enough to see someone pull out a phone - presumably to report their location. Falcon must have spotted it too because he chuckles quietly.

"Here we go."

"Here we go."

"19 minutes to landing Sir." Aron breaks the silence in the plane and Steve fastens a seatbelt around his waist before reaching under his knees for the shield.

The Winter Soldier takes a breath in through his mouth and makes no attempt to unclench the fist that's just formed in his human hand.

Clint's still arguing to Sam that he should make a little cardboard sign to hold up once they get to the airport when they actually arrive at the airport.

"no because putting 'mutant grandpas' was gonna be so much less offensive, c'mon please - it'll be worth the bruises — "

It's some weird time in the morning (or possibly night still) where time doesn't count anymore and the sun'll be coming up at some point and all that does matter is that they are 71/2 minutes ahead of the plane's ETA and Hawkeye's kill count is now at 5 approaching 6.

"For a protocol check there sure is a lot of cars trying to hide" Natasha, every inch the Black Widow, drops the agent between her arms and swivels, knocking out the one behind her who thought she hadn't noticed him.

"Lotta guys with guns too" adds Falcon, keeping a gun trained on the one remaining agent as Hawkeye drops back down from the roof and Natasha pins him to the ground. The agent's already bitten whatever he was given to chew and his eyes roll back into his head.

"Rear area clear. Exit Secure." Natasha states and six men arrive from around the corner. Four are defiantly ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. A fifth scowls at the agent on the floor and looks like he wants to spit or something. The sixth does spit.

"Fucking HYDRA. We'll take it from here Agents" the one who spat orders.

"Keep to the shadows. No, right to the shadows. You're here to protect, not as an offensive remember." Natasha says over her shoulder as the three walk toward the runway. She doesn't mention that the dead man almost certainly wasn't HYDRA. The less people know the better usually.

"Checked, Romanoff" someone says.

"Wait, that was _Romanoff_?" another hisses almost silently.

_"__I can't do anything unless you tell me you're ok with this Buck. I won't do that to you after…well, after them…"_

_Silence. The Winter Soldier sits on the crappy motel bed and continues saying nothing. According to official records HYDRA don't existent anymore. That doesn't mean there's not people after the asset and Steve knows that they're going to have to move today or tomorrow. They've been in one place too long now. Yesterday the guys running the place enquired about a poorly muffled screaming coming from room 24 in the middle of the night. Steve'd frozen for a solid minute before muttering something about Afghanistan and left it at that. Four days ago Falcon and Black Widow had left for New York. Three days ago Steve Rogers and James Barnes had arrived just outside of Wuppertal, Deutschland and checked into Der Haltestelle Motel. _

_"__Nat and Sam are staying in New York for now. I won't go back if you don't want me to, although we'll need to move again soon…" Steve tries not to think of snow storms on mountain tops so thick he could only just make out the silhouette of Bucky._

_"__We - there's a — I'd have to let the Avenger's know of course, if I was staying here, they'd have to — I think they're expecting for me to come back but I don't have to if you — they'd cope just fine without me, I'd do it Buck, you know that don't you? I'd stay if you wanted me too? Or you could — you could come back with me. To New York. We could figure it out from there, Natasha knows some guys that could help with the…with… And Tony'd look at your arm… if you wanted, make sure it's safe an' all? Or you could, y-know, stay here, and I go back if? Or come back but you wouldn't have to be around if you didn't want to… we'd find a way to make it work? You don't have to do anything you don't want to though Buck, we'll make it work. But you gotta be okay with it, I won't do anything otherwise." He tries not to think of how it would've been suicide to even take three strides forward to him for fear of falling off unseen ridges. _

_"__Sure Stevie, lets go." Steve's chest does a funny twitchy thing at the childhood name surfacing which is more than a little painful. Maybe, if he'd been facing the other way, he could have missed the look in Bucky's eyes that's taken up residence recently. As it stands Steve isn't too sure that the name isn't just like other Brooklyn nuances that have begun littering the man's language as he re-learns they exist, like he's trying them out for size._

_6 hours later Steve Rodgers and J.B. Barnes board a private flight to Chicago, Illinois. The Winter Soldier hasn't said another word apart from answering Steve's direct questions._

Natasha, Sam and Clint (who's found his way onto another rooftop) stand by as two large shouldered men step forward and take James' papers. They're handed over by another, official looking, ex-S.H.I.E.L.D woman with a not so inconspicuous Glock 19 resting against her thigh.

No-ones quite knows what it says on the documents; How exactly they explain why the States should let in an ex-soviet assassin who's name is responsible for several of the headline hitting events in the last decade alone, not to mention that the man he supposedly is has been dead for over 70 years. Whatever it says though seems to do the job because the two men hand the paper back and step away from the door.

They don't recognise the first person to step out. He's wearing a military insignia on his shoulder though and as he turns to one of the men Falcon recognises the S.H.I.E.L.D symbol on the gun at his waste. What he doesn't recognise is the unusual firework shape tattooed on the agent's wrist when he holds out his details. He lets it slide though because Steve is handing his own passport and documents over to the other man and watching him is The Winter Soldier.

_So that was chapter one (or two if you count the prologue...). Next chapter follows on but you'll get a bit more backstory and things have a the hint of a threatening turn..._  
_I'm not going to set a specific schedule for update (anyone who knows me knows I won't stick to it) but I'm a good way into the next chapter and should have it up next weekend or thereabouts. As before, this is Unbeta-ed so if you spot anything don't hesitate to let me know!_


	3. We Are The Poisoned Youth

**I**t's not surprising, really, that Sam's hand slips down to his gun, finger on the safety catch. Not when the Winter Soldier, the living breathing winter fricking soldier, is standing not ten feet away - his own hand inside a pocket gripping something Sam strongly suspects might sting a little if used.

The Soldier's head's bowed enough that the checkpoint guys have to ask him to look up, but, from this angle, Falcon can see his eyes flicking around - quickly finding all their 'hidden' back up. When, for a second, steel blue eyes lock onto Sam he braces further into his stance - resisting the flight or fight urge that thrills through his nerves. Even with the metal arm, currently broken, hidden under an aged denim jacket Falcon doesn't doubt the damage that the Soldier would cause if he felt it necessary. He totally gets the whole backup squad that's standing in the shadows "just incase something happens" (Read: "If we've misread this whole thing and 'Bucky''s gonna try and kill us then I'd at least like someone in the vicinity to clear away my corpse").

Clint on the other hand had rolled his eyes when he'd heard they were sending an enforcement team to escort an man off a plane.

(_"Really? 23:1, including the better half of us lot? C'mon man, you wouldn't exactly call those betting odds, would you?"_

_"Better half my ass"  
"Oh, I'd forgotten Bruce and Thor aren't coming with us."_

_"Clint we've got no idea how he'll respond - he could still be conditioned for all we know."_

_"Yeah yeah, I know. I'm just saying,- you seem to have forgotten what our day job is."_)

Even though he's not in Sam's line of sight Hawkeye's gaze is almost palpable, arrow pointed straight at the Soldier's sternum. The Soldier can tell too, if the full body shudder he just gave is any sign. He looks pretty tense but doesn't appear to be resisting Steve's guiding arm as they begin to walk toward the cars. Actually, it's Steve who keeps looking like he's going to learn in and say something, or punch someone, but pulls his gaze forward again before he can.

Sam wonder's what's going on in the Soldier's mind. Whether he's aware that the security is there for that exactly, security. Not, say, to attack him, for instance. He wonder's whether the Soldier's thinking at all. He wouldn't be that surprised, he's seen plenty of veterans do something similar, disassociating from everything - functioning basically on autopilot. The Solider hasn't lashed out yet - so Sam presumes that he's aware enough to know they aren't there to harm him. Or that he simply doesn't care anymore.

* * *

To be entirely honest Hawkeye's not entirely sure how exactly they got to this point, with the Soldier actually about to (hopefully) drive three hours with them to a nearby safe house where they'll stay until (if) he's cleared back into civilisation, rather than, say, lost in eastern Europe doing hell knows what. Being honest, there was a fairly large part of him that didn't even think they'd get this far. He'd trust Natasha's judgement with his life, but the comic books hadn't been wrong when they painted Steve as the idealist he is.

It's maybe because he doesn't quite believe that they've got this far without a hitch that Clint saw the the black smudge on Aron's wrist almost as soon as he stepped off the plane and handed his papers over. Of course, then, he didn't know that the S.H.I.E.L.D fight attendant was called Aron. He knows that now - it's practically the only thing he knows though. The kid's good, Clint has to admit. He's just repeating his S.H.I.E.L.D number system and name over and over, no matter how hard Clint presses palm into his jugular or knee into his lower stomach. The man's got to be in fair amount of pain now, and he'll almost certainly know the chance of survival from this point in is negligible. He's bleeding out from the impact wound, an slightly barbed arrow had gone diagonally into the middle of his back. The the tip of which is still embedded in torn tissue.

"Who sent you?" Hawkeye finds the tip and twists slightly

"I t-old you… I'm S.H.I.E.L.D Ag'nt 423—6J—R—"

"S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't exist anymore. Who sent you?"

"Fu-Fury, Director Fury I'm assisting Fury —S.H.I.E.L.D Agent 43—"

Hawkeye hounds the man further against the wall,

"I'll repeat. Who sent you?" Aron continues to stare at him, eyes enlarged with a lack of oxygen, repeating the same continuous code. "What house d'you work for?"

"House? I-I'm-I work for S.H.I.E.L.D"

"S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't exist. Who do you work for?" When he get's no answer Hawkeye asks again, accentuating every word with an amount of pressure on the arrow. Aron's about to loose consciousness again and Clint needs answers before then. The blood on Hawkeye's hand is wet and warm.

"I-I-There's not a- I don't know. Please, I don't know-"

"That's ok. Tell me who you're working for and it'll stop hurting." He really is still a kid. Hawkeye wonders how long he's been working with them.

"I-there's a - please please I can't I don't-" He's terrified, whimpering a little, slight tears tracking their way through long lashes.

"The asset yes?"

"He-the trial- I, he - they're going - to take - I don't know 'm sorry I don't please -"

"Ok. I need the name of your house, then you can go."

"I-I don't work for - not a house - I- a man. H-He didn't I don't have a name - he - they called him Don - The Don - please I don't know his name —"

"Aww crap."

Hawkeye releases the boy completely, as he finally looses consciousness for the last time. He grabs the kid's documents and leaves - joining the others near the cars. The blood on his hand is beginning to dry and he wipes it on his gear as he runs.

* * *

The Soldier sits.

The metal arm spasms slightly now and then, you wouldn't notice it except the electrical charge is making the fingers twitch ever so slightly.

The bird man (Sam, his name is Sam) sits on one side of him. The Captain, Stevie, is on the other side. He might be asleep. Listening to his breathing the Soldier, James Barnes of the 107th, thinks he might be.

He's restless, relentless.

Skin itches, a need to fight. To flee. Pointed pricks of pain.

Only it's not pain. It's background noise.

The screaming too (_"__Who the hell is Bucky?" "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes". James Barnes don't exist. -Steve!- He died in 1941. You're a weapon. a gift to mankind. "You're my friend." Steve? Steve… __)_, it's all just background noise. And somewhere behind that there's blackness. Still, he doesn't flee, doesn't fight. He sits and tries to think about squat. Not thinking was easier when there wasn't anything to think about; or any reason to want to think.

* * *

They're in two cars, using one that the support squad brought. Sam, Steve and the Solider in one, a guy with a gun driving, and Clint and Natasha in the other. It's an peculiar kind of procession they make as they press through the morning, passing the border into Indiana State. You wouldn't know that the red Mazda, which is ostentatious as fuck and clearly belongs to Tony Stark (only it doesn't, Natasha won it off him last month), houses two of the most dangerous people you'll ever meet. Or that in the black Sudan three cars in front sits the most dangerous. Behind is a handful of select agents, just in case.

They're headed toward a safe house Natasha knows - near enough Lawrence that civilisation isn't ever out of reach but far enough that if something were to go wrong, civilians won't be compromised.

Even though she drove all yesterday, Natasha stopped the car 40 minutes ago and told Clint to get out of the driving seat.

(_"W-what're you doing?"_

_"You, out. I'm driving, I'd rather not die before we get there please."_

_"I don't think we're going to—"_

_"No, but you're tapping again and I know you Clint. If you're tapping you're not concentrating."_)

The thing is, he's still tapping and it's not that Natasha's not getting irritated, it's actually exceedingly annoying, but tapping and Clint never go well together.

"Stop."

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." Clint looks down at his hand, like he's only just realising he has one. To his credit he does stop tapping. For all of two minutes.

"Clint…"

He blinks a few times, and focuses on his fingers, which stop tapping again.

"Where did you go, huh?"

"Sorry I just… Today's been kinda weird, you know?"

"Yeah. Only a couple'a hours now though."

"Huh, can't wait to get in'a bed again. Maybe have a sandwich or somethin' first though." Natasha smiles slightly, and if one of her hands reaches over to rest on his then he doesn't say anything.

The car hums to itself for a few minutes and Natasha switches into the outside lane, which is almost entirely empty.

"You know how we weren't sure who's looking for The Winter— for Bucky? I think, I might have an idea at least of one person. Or rather, peoples." Clint says, suddenly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you remember the guys who took my ears?"

"Yes…"

"Well, the kid today, from the airplane —"

"—The security one?"

"Did you see his wrist?"

"Only quickly. Why? Was he..?"

"Yeah… I, um, he's not a problem anymore - although his friends might be… He, uh, told me a couple've interesting things…"

* * *

Someone give this kid a pay rise and cut the damn check. Sam glances over at their driver when this particular thought passes through his consciousness. The kid, in question is the driver, who, at this point, hasn't raised an eyebrow (or a gun) at whose sat in his car. It's not possible that he hasn't heard the horrific stories about his passenger and Sam wonders what they were trained for, these kids back at S.H.I.E.L.D school. Whatever it is, he must be fearless - or really, really stupid.

The Soldier has barely moved since they got in the car, a couple'a hours ago, though, and Sam is starting to relax a bit as the adrenaline seeps away, even if it does mean that it leaves space for the paralytic exhaustion to creep back, bit by bit. He'd risk sleeping for a bit, only Steve's already snoring quietly and, even though he isn't posing to much of a threat, the Soldier is still staring straight ahead. Instead Sam sits back and lets random thoughts swim around his head for a bit.

He's reminded of the morning, where, were he supposes the 'hunt' for Barnes had begun, in his mind at least. Contrary to Steve, who believes that it began back when S.H.I.E.L.D fell, Sam would say that it was the morning Black Widow had appeared, unannounced, in his kitchen (_"Jesus fuck Nat there's a door most people start with, y'know, knocking"_) that it actually begun.

**The Beginning. (Or at least The Beginning according to Sam Wilson, The Falcon):**

_"Jesus fuck Nat there's a door, most people start with, y'know, knocking" He's covered in sweat and really just wants to shower, eat and sleep a couple more hours before he has to pick Steve up from the airport._

_"Hey Sam, you don't mind do you? I need to lay low for a couple of days. I brought you a present." She gestures to the large crate that Sam's just tripped over on his way to the fridge._

_"I can see. Who's on your case this time? More importantly—" He says with a mouthful of bagel "—am I going to have to infiltrate anything again? Juice?"_

_" No thanks, I ate already." She sits as Sam continues preparing his breakfast._

_"So, what up?"_

_"Your /hideous/ light fitting." She bends to pull a folder out of her bag just as a spatular goes flying at her head. She catches it with one hand and throws it back before Sam registers she actually caught it. "No seriously, I can't believe you haven't replaced it yet."_

_"I wasn't the one who shot the old one with an arrow in the first place."_

_"Neither was I."_

_"It was definitely your idea though. 'Oh Clint let's see who can reck more of Falcon's possessions in one go while trying to send objects though the closed window.' - yeah sure, you're totally innocent in that scenario."_

_"What was that voice?! I don't sound like that… Anyway have a look at this, it's a basic summary of the who and the what parts at least." Sam tips the scrabbled eggs onto his plate, flicking through the fairly thick file._

_"So this terrorist gang, the what - Maggia? - these guys, they're trying to kill you?"_

_"If by kill you mean maim, torture, and extract information from, then yeah sure. Not all of them though, see, these ones are split up into houses."_

_"And the assets are the ones blocking my fridge then?"_

_"I'm taking them to a storage unit not far from here. They might be useful one day."_

_"Wait - You don't actually want them?" Sam turns from the sink, spinning almost comically._

_"Not really."_

_"Nope, m'not following…walk me through that again; You stole a whole bunch of shit which got an unknown terrorist organisation chasing you're ass for /no reason at all/? Is this some kind of scary assassin mid-life crisis is it because—"_

_"Haha very funny" Natasha deadpans. "Don't worry we've got a few more years before that sets in, I assure you. I needed in to the facility, and while I was there I found them. You didn't run with Steve this morning?" It's not really a question, more of a statement._

_"I - he's not in town right now. I though you knew that?"_

_"Yeah but he was coming back on tuesday, I skyped him monday night once I got on the ground."_

_"He rang tuesday morning, said he was staying a few more days; I'm picking him up this afternoon…"_

_"Huh, that's odd. He's a shit lier, I'd've known if he was. Wonder what changed his mind?"_

_"Damnit Steve, you'd better got a good reason this time… So these crazy folks chasing your ass, you got a plan?"_

_"Lay low a couple of days then I'll go back, take them down from the top - easy, quick, minimal fall out. I don't think I was the only one who broke into the storage facility where the assets were though. There was damage to the security panel, not extensive but definitely sophisticated. Whoever did it's been trained properly at some point. There was, uh, bits missing, at a guess, stuff that could be used to repair some kind of metal prosthesis."_

_"You don't mean - he's been there?"_

_"Maybe. Maybe we'll know, depending on what Steve's found - wherever he's gotten to. Don't tell him anything just yet though?"_

_"Sure. I'm working this afternoon but I was gonna drop Steve 'round the tower when he gets in."_

_"I guess I'll see him there later then."_

Nat didn't inform anyone about anything that afternoon. As it turned out that was the afternoon Tony's once pet project now mass murdering mechanical monstrosity, Ultron, decided to drop in.

* * *

"—according to these he was 19. 19. He was still a kid Nat. How sick are these guys?"

"Some of us started that young."

"But… look where we are now, I mean, we're doing the right thing now, aren't we? But — can you imagine what kinda life that kid'a got —"

"Don't. Even if he didn't know what was signing up for, that's no-one's fault but theirs. So, right now, the priority is making sure no more of them get that close to us again. Right now, our job is to stop them getting to James. And after this is all over - maybe I'll come with you to take them apart properly."

"So. What're we going to tell Cap?"

* * *

**So when I said next weekend or there about, I was aiming for sooner than 3 weekends later but hey, UCAS, uni visits, coursework and music competitions have pretty much filled my time. Also this chapter was a pain to write and is pretty long. It was going to be longer but I cut it off so I could get at least something uploaded. I hope you enjoy it though.**

**\- Thank you to Charliee who had a look over the previous stuff and pointed out the flaws in my german grammar btw ;p x**


	4. The Kids Are All Wrong

Telling Steve about Aron should have been just about the worst decision Clint's made all month. Should have been because Steve should have flipped. Gone mental. Broken down, broken things. Anything, just as long as it would have caused Clint to regret not concealing the information. The thing is, all it's done is send Steve into full on Cap mode. Clint can see him pouring over the files he forwarded, a couple of hours ago, hunched at the crappy kitchen table. Clint thinks this might just make it absolutely the worst decision he's made in at least the year.

They'd arrived at the safe house at _, just _ hours after leaving Thor's seventh game of Irish snap unfinished. It hadn't taken Nat long to disengage the false lock, disarm the laser-beam system around the door (seriously) and kick in the severely disused alarm.

The farmhouse had looked uninhabitable from the outside, creepers climbing up the cracks in walls, windows boarded up and stonework well passed crumbling. On the inside almost entirely empty rooms are framed by whitewashed brickwork or peeling wallpaper with a very 60s pattern. The house its self - four beds, kitchen, utility room and upstairs bathroom - shows no indication that it could ever be a secret spy safe house. That is, other than the small armoury under the floorboards in the once living room.

It's the outbuildings though, that come away with the award for concealed function of the century. The roof on three of the four buildings have fallen in, and the fourth simply doesn't seem to have ever existed.

It's into one of these buildings that Natasha directs Steve, and, in turn, Bucky. Steve's been briefed on the procedure from here on in until the Soldier stands trial in anything up to a months time. 'Bucky' won't be alone without a supervisor at any point, and is prohibited from leaving his holding cell, which is what, in Steve's eyes at least, this outbuilding will be. He doesn't like it. Of course he doesn't, who would? But it's necessary and there's no way Bucky'll get past the government if they don't do as asked of them - now they're actually in the good ol' US of A, that is.

In the barn it's not quite as derelict as it looks. On this level there's bales of hay stacked behind a huge rundown tractor with monitors and recording equipment in them. The tractor, it turns out, has enough explosives in it to take out half of Chicago (ok, maybe he's exaggerating on that a tincy bit) and the armoured power of a small quinjet. Steve sees Bucky, who's being escorted to his 'living quarters', almost choke on a infinitesimal splutter, brows drawing together like he doesn't understand, when Steve's told this. He tries not to think about it too much and focuses instead on distracting the agent who's briefing him. Super soldier hearing or no, Bucky'd always been able to pick up on the smallest sounds when he focused and he'd have definitely been able to hear the agent if he'd wanted to.

Steve's taken back into the house and won't be allowed to see Bucky again until that evening. Since there isn't that much to do other than wait for news on when Bucky's trial will take place he spends the day sweeping the place for bugs with Nat and Clint, security rigging the bedroom he and Sam'll share and sketching (but his fingertips and toes itch with _something_ and he gives up after an hour).

Then Nat had come to find him. Said Clint had something Steve needed to hear - Sam too if he was around. Said they had a problem.

**(An couple of hours earlier; The kitchen.)**

"Hey man, Steve said that Natasha said that you said that we had a problem and I wan't you to know that, incase this is just some other high school break up shit, I never said anything to anyone, ok?"

Clint huffs out a laugh as he replies. "Nah, it might be a bit bigger than some high school break up shit unfortunately. _Might_ be Cap, _might_ be. No, stop, I said _might be_, you can't pull the tragic world's-ending-I'm-gonna-have-t'stop-it face out until you've at least heard most of what I've to say."

"I wasn't —"

"— you were."

" See, Sam understands the tragic faces of Captain America."

"Maybe it's a bird thing… Did I just say that? Damn must be having Tony withdrawals or something…"

"Sam, Clint, please. Focus on the task. What's going on?"

"Well, you remember you're security guard on the plane?"

"Uhuh, Aron?"

"Uhhuh yeah him, well S.H.I.E.L.D clearly didn't do a great job at authorising him. Though, I'm not convinced he was ever in S.H.I.E.L.D - The guys he worked for aren't quite as developed on the whole 'depth stealth' thing as H.Y.D.R.A were - at least I hope they aren't."

"You're saying Bucky was - we were - being, what, watched? Evaluated? What are they after? Did he — was he sent to..? "

"Well, that's the thing, we don't exactly know what they're after. Nat and I, we presumed that they're after the asset. Especially given what my little chat with 'Aron' showed up - which wasn't much, by the way. I'll get you a written copy later if you want?"

"Please."

"Sure thing."

"But Aron? Was he meant to kill us, or what? He didn't seem hostile on the plane…"

"No, well, we're not sure he was meant to do anything actually. Just see what was going on and report back maybe? He didn't have enough weapons on him to even think about taking down one superhuman, let alone two and a metal arm. Not enough expertise either, he actually broke pretty quickly when I found him, both physically and mentally. So either his guys are really really badly informed about, well, about everything - I mean, you'll see on the report, even his cover was outdated - or our Aron wasn't sent to do anything but watch."

"You know who sent him then?" Sam adds from next to where Steve is glancing out the window toward Bucky's barn.

"I have a decent guess yeah. I don't know if you've ever heard of, and for your sakes I hope you haven't, a crime group called the Maggia?"

Steve looks back. "I don't think so? Should I have?"

"Don't think so. I thought I'd taken the worst of them down a few years back, but turns out there's still a few alive and kicking. They operate in houses, or families, each working for different people, for different things, in different places. The only thing that links them really is a general aim to be the bad guys and mess up our lives - oh, and the fact that they used to make up the largest organised, and conventional, crime network in America. Except for perhaps H.Y.D.R.A it seems…"

"By organised crime you mean?"

"Narcotics trading, illegal gambling, loan sharking, bootlegging back when bootlegging was popular… And that's not including the stuff they keep quite about - like organised murder, high up influence in politics and the acquisition and trading of decommissioned military assets."

"So they want Bucky to sell on?"

"Or to keep for themselves, having _the_ Winter Soldier in their occupation wouldn't exactly be a hardship for them. I don't doubt they've already worked out exactly all the benefits having him'll bring. But yeah, they can't be the only ones that want him, and, if they did want to sell, he's guarantied to bring in a pretty profit for them."

"So what do we do?" Sam looks at Steve

"We take them down. And everyone else who's out looking for Bucky."

"Do we even know whether they'll be able to control him, if they do get him?"

"They won't. Get to him."

"But, if they do?"

"Then they managed to before, whoever gets him'll be able to win him over easy peasy."

"They won't get him. Not again." Steve stands, reaching to open the door and walk out. "Clint, I need that report within the hour."

"Jesus" Sam scrubs a hand over his face once Steve is out of earshot. "Every time, every time it's like he's being told for the first time. Fuck. Why is everything always so complicated all the time?"

Hawkeye doesn't answer.

Natasha had found Clint lying face down on the roof, nose in a manila folder of paperwork and tablet laid out next to him, about 40 minutes after he had said he would go talk to Steve. He'd appeared to be trying to focus on anything but the tablet, which a half finished report was open on.

(_"He didn't take it well." _

_"__It's Steve of course he didn't."_

_"__He wants a written transcript of what happened - at the airport."_

_"__And you're writing it now."_

_"__If by writing you mean hoping it'll go away and sort its self then sure, I'm writing it now."_

_"__Finnish the report Clint. Then we can talk." _

_"__I was going to pass on my information about our friendly mafia too."_

_"__Good. Finnish the report."_

_"__How is he?"_

_"__Holding up. Waiting for your report."_

_"__What about the asset?"_

_"__The Soldier? He's the same as before probably. Clint you need to write the report."_

_"__We need to do something about those trees, I can't see the road from here."_

_"__I'll get someone on it when we've written this report."_

_"__It's fine from the other side of the building."_

_"__Okay. After you jumped on him what happened?"_

_"__He pulled a G21 glock - hey did you know—"_

_"__Clint. Focus. What happened next?"_

_"__He pulled the glock and I had him against the wall. I don't know what happened to the gun in the end —"_)

So now Clint's cleaning a completely pointless gun and watching Steve sigh oh so silently whenever he looks out of the window.

He knows Clint sometimes removes his hearing aids when he isn't needed so he twists round from the report to talk to him, just in case. Not that Clint would miss it if he did start talking - they don't call him Hawkeye for nothing - but Steve was raised on respect, and knows more than most about what it's like to not to hear everything all of the time.

"How come you met these guys before? There not exactly what high level S.H.I.E.L.D's usually worked with, are they?"

Clint twists something behind his ear and shrugs. "They had something they shouldn't've done - couple've assets that were on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar, I was sent in with my 'apprentice' to get them back. Course that should've been the end of it, they'd've got someone from the government to finish the job probably. But, uh, lets say that while I was taking something of theirs they took something of mine too; they called it payment, I called it rude."

"Wait, you lost your—" Steve waves toward Clint vaguely, possibly aiming for the general direction of his ears "—to these guys? Clint, I'm sorry…"

"Nah, it's cool. Kate and I spent a couple of months taking the whole operation apart, well, apparently not quite all of it. Anyway, she got called off somewhere else and eventually Coulson dug me up with orders from the top, asking about joining some kinda jump in Russia taking down KGB assassins."

"How many d'ya think's out there now?"

"KGB assassins? Dunno asks Natasha. No, no, shush, I knew what you meant Cap. Its hard to tell. Magga are the kinda guys that'll've thrived of the S.H.I.E.L.D. H.Y.D.R.A shitstorm. Chaos in the secret service, plenty of new bodies who don't want to work for a military organisation, assets buried for years by S.H.I.E.L.D floating on the surface for anyone to take. Yeah, they'll be growing again now."

"And the Don? Is he the leader now?"

"Nah, the Aron kid was marked as a foot soldier - they don't get orders from the top, ever. But we're a few that worked outside of the usual order —"

"—Rogues?"

"Sometimes. But some just didn't fit the structures, like, they seemed to work with the Maggia, rather than for them."

"And you think our guy was one of them?"

"Uh, maybe. There's no conclusive intel on him but Kate once went on a feral hen sprint over an Italian Count. If it's the same one though he'll getting on 120 years old now."

"the hell's a hen sprint?" Sam steps around boxes blocking the doorway

"Goose-chase, whatever. It had more drama my way."

"And this Don then, he's a ghost?" Steve says.

"Literally?"

"Ha. Hilarious Barton."

Clint's pretty sure if Cap didn't have his frowney face on Sam's eyebrows would be hysterical. "Just checking, y'know, aliens and all, it might be possible…"

"Wow wow hold on Cap, a ghost? Like a Barnes kind've ghost? 'Cus if he is we're gunna need a bigger car brother…"

"It's a S.H.I.E.L.D term - Barton you know more than I do."

"Yes maestro. It's like a, uh, an unofficial role —"

"— Very specific —"

"—they exist, but not on official records, it's like, the deepest undercover you can get while still working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Like, good-kid assassin but with a fixed employer. Catch is, each ghost has a job, but whoever's working it changes so frequently it's damn near impossible to trace them."

"There's no guarantee The Maggia will work in the same way —"

"That's if the guy we're after does go in for that shit."

"So, plan? Anybody?"

Your name is J.B Barnes. You are the asset. They call you The Winter Soldier. Steve calls you Bucky.

Your name is unknown, you are perhaps centuries old. Perhaps minutes. Perhaps you never existed. How much is true?

The museum told you enough. You are J.B Barnes, born 19_. A war hero. You are an asset. You shaped a century.

Who are you? Who is giving the orders? You shaped a century. Do you give the orders now? You remember times a Captain was giving orders. When was that? Who were you then? An asset? A weapon? Soldier?

"_Mine." _Whose? The memory has no substance, no context, just a word that flees by - heard among many other words. Whose where you? Who said that?

Perimeters have been established, area secure. Thread level minimal. You are alone. A uniform stands at ease by the door. They have their orders. They will protect. Perimeter secure. You are alone.

Target is safe; potential threat level: high, actual threat level: low. Rumlow was safe, at least, Steve thought he was. You think you remember Rumlow in a uniform - like the one, Barton, wears. But he wasn't safe, can't have been - he was in that room with you. You think maybe he sometimes gave orders. You don't remember. They thought he was safe, they were wrong. Steve said the target, S.H.I.E.L.D, didn't exist anymore. Not your target, your target was more valuable. S.H.I.E.L.D was Rumlow's target, you think.

That was before. You don't have a target anymore. Your name is J.B Barnes. They call you The Winter Soldier. Steve calls you Bucky. You don't have a target anymore.

"—Yeah, yeah you could say that. Whatever it is, I'd be more comfortable with more intel on the Don before we do anything - if this whole junket's still running it won't be easy gettin' into…"

"That might not be possible Clint, not if he's after Bucky…" Natasha walks in on what is evidently not an argument. Or it might be, it's hard to tell sometimes.

"Ok, so he brings the fight to us and we'll work with it. But I'm saying don't do anything dumb and go after a ghost just yet Cap?"

"If he brings the fight to us we'll have no option but to work with it. It's not ideal but if you think we've no other option —"

"Not until we know more about who this guy is and what he wants. Until then, we focus on what we know - which includes securing Barnes' trial."

"Which I've got an update on." Three tired heads turn in sync when Natasha makes herself known.

The man you used to know looks at you with sad, sad eyes. He trusts you, he just doesn't know you anymore. That's what Sam had told you. You didn't reply. Hadn't know to reply.

How could you have replied anyway? To tell him who you are now?

You are J.B Barnes. H.Y.D.R.A asset, an enemy of the United States. You are a weapon without a handler. A figure, centuries young and minutes old. A man - torn through relentless time. A monster, reborn a mewling babe into this lurid life.

Would you have told him?

Blue eyes watch the floor. They are not your eyes. Your eyes watch him. He's too big for the chair he's sat in, limbs contracted by metal arms. You think a part of you remembers a time the chair was too big for him. Not this chair though. You remember torn upholstery and floral patterns the man you once were was ashamed of but never said so.

You remember a chair with metal arms. Metal everything. You remember the taste of fear.

You remember the sight of fear too. This time in blue eyes and an arm outstretched. Not far enough. You don't remember your face. You don't remember your own fear, then. Did you fear? You think you must have done. If everything comes from somewhere and fear is inherent where, where else would you have learnt how it, not in this desensitised world at least.

"Did he fear?" It escapes your lips before you think to stop it. The Captain was saying something, you realise. He's paused, his mouth momentarily open before he blinks back at you.

"Did who fear, Buck?"

Him? You? Me? You don't know who you meant. Is this fear? Who? Him? Me? But he's you, or he was, but then—

"Bucky?" He asks again.

"No." Your throat feels tight. It's the feeling of being choked, back on the hellicarrier. You can't breath.

Steve hasn't moved.

"Did he fear?" Three words. The man sat on a ripped mattress stained by blots that might be blood across from Steve glares. Eyes full of shadows.

It's apparent, strikingly, that Bucky hasn't heard a word Steve said. Steve doesn't know what we was saying either. Something about strategy, court dates… all kind of shit that isn't important just right now.

"Did who fear, Buck?" The soldier glances at Steve, the air beside him. It's the same look he gave the day Steve walked into the hotel room and found the Soldier, Bucky, sitting stone solid on the bed. Steve'd said hi, because what else was he supposed to say, and the Soldier's eyes had widened impossibly, scanning Steve and flickering away. It was the same look he'd given Steve after the muzzle had be wrenched off and Steve had uttered that one word, still heavy in his stomach, in his gut, in his heart, after so many months.

"Bucky?"

"No." It sounds tight, restricted, stuck to his throat. Steve knows what it feels like to speak like that. He can't move, can't think, can't breath. They say like that for millisecond, minutes, millennia. Who knows?

It's a good job that Natasha chooses that moment to knock on the door. Rap, Rap, Rap. It breaks Steve out of his trance, at least a little, and the Soldier leans back into his chair (he'd been edging forward Steve realises now) adopting the position of causal confidence that Steve is certain now might be a facade.

"Steve?"

"Can she?" Steve asks the Soldier, still now moving much.

The soldier says nothing and remains statue still.

"Uh… I think—" Steve begins

"Unless you say no I'm coming in." Silence beats for a count of three and then the door squeaks and Natasha appears in Steve's peripheral. He needs to stop staring but Bucky's still watching him and Steve's never been good at letting him go.

"Steve, maybe you should go outside." Steve doesn't want to, he needs to stay. For him or for Bucky he doesn't know. But it wasn't a question and when Natasha touches his arm he looks at her with haunted eyes and lets himself stumble out of the room. The door shuts behind him and Natalia is left with the Winter Soldier. She doesn't freeze when he man pulls her gun on a rat.

_**I'm so so so so so sorry this wasn't sooner but unfortunately this is about the time between updates for the forceable future atm because A-levels are stressful little shits and I've taken on too much stuff to do... Again...**_  
_**In good news I've got 4 Uni offers back so at least I know what I'm working for now. **_

_**I've started writing a second fic because I had /major/ issues with this chapter for a good couple of months (and I might come back and edit again at some point). I'll post the start once I've got a bit further into it but it's an Orchestral AU with a very different tone to this one... :D At the moment it's called 'Romeo and Juliet, huh? (It's an unlikely story and I'm drowning in your glory)' but that might change before I post it.**_


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